


The Dying Game

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-04-23 18:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14338695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: A mysterious illness forces the brothers to visit a walk-in clinic only to reveal a devastating truth. Set roughly in Season 3.





	1. Chapter 1

Dean glanced at his brother and smiled encouragingly. Sam tried to return the gesture but it came out more of a grimace. He really felt like shit- had been for the past two weeks- and just wanted it to stop.

So that was why they were sitting in the waiting room of a cramped, hot walk-in clinic in the middle of August in of Florida.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to move away from the obese woman sitting beside him who was slurping noisily on a McDonald's soft drink, her piggy eyes watching an equally fat little boy run around the chairs and tables, knocking magazines and displays of brochures onto the floor. The stench of sweat wafted towards Sam from the woman's direction and he was sure if he had to sit any longer he was going to be sick.

"You want something to drink?" Dean asked.

"Okay," Sam replied, wiping sweat from his forehead.

He watched as his older brother got up, walked across the waiting room and stopped beside a large red and blue vending machine, brimming with bottles of water, soda, and juice.

Sam sighed and picked up a brochure on the end table beside him, reading about 'What To Do If You Think You May Be Pregnant?'

"Oh, is that what's up with you?" Dean grinned, holding out a bottle of orange juice to Sam, "Tell me, is it a boy or girl?"

The younger brother smiled slightly, unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a sip of the juice, grimacing as the acidic liquid stung the sores that had started developing in his mouth two weeks ago.

Sam wiped his mouth over his sleeve and sighed.

"What are they doing in there?" he muttered.

"I think they're on lunch," Dean replied, gulping down a bottle of Coca-Cola.

"How're you feeling?" his older brother asked, looking at him concernedly.

"Like my internal organs are slowly melting into goo," Sam replied, "Why can't they turn on the AC?"

The lady behind the reception desk, with an impressive pink and purple beehive hairdo and matching fingernails like talons, seemed to have heard Sam's question and called out in a voice made raspy by years of smoking cigarettes, "AC's broken."

"Maybe we should just go, Dean," Sam told his brother and made to stand up.

"Oh no, Sammy," Dean reached out and grabbed his brother's arm, "You're sick. We're here to find out what's wrong. Maybe get some antibiotics or whatever before we go."

"I feel better," Sam told him, forcing himself to smile, "Like I could run a marathon."

His brother shook his head, "A minute ago you were saying you were melting into a puddle. We are staying right here until your name is called."

Sam didn't say anything else; instead he opened his bottle of orange juice and took another sip.

"Camilla Roncato?" a doctor who looked like he had just graduated from med school the day before read the obese woman's name from the form she has no doubt filled out the same as Sam had upon entering the walk-in clinic.

The woman pulled herself up with some difficulty from her chair and called to her boy before waddling slowly towards the doctor, a large patch of sweat standing out darkly on the back of her flower print Mumu.

"I've gotta use the toilet," Sam told his brother suddenly, standing shakily.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean reached out but didn't touch his brother.

"Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute," Sam moved with jerky movements across the waiting room towards the large unisex bathroom, closing the door quickly behind him.

Dean watched his brother go, sighing to himself.

"Aw hell Sammy," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair, "What's wrong with you?"

Dean struggled to think of what had his brother so sick. Was it a bout of the flu? Two weeks ago Sam had suddenly fallen ill with vomiting, diarrhea and nausea. It was so bad that he could barely keep any food or drink down. A cough developed shortly afterwards and Sam could barely seem to stay awake for very long, sleeping in way past the time he normally woke up. Then, came a fever, chills and night sweats, so bad Sam couldn't sleep no matter how exhausted he was.

Last week, Sam had started complaining of what he thought were canker sores in his mouth, but they hadn't disappeared even though he has faithfully rinsed with salt water and only seemed to get worse.

Finally Dean had had enough and insisted Sam go to a hospital or at least a walk-in clinic. So, after breakfast that morning, Dean found the nearest clinic and practically dragged his brother inside.

Looking up at the sound of a door opening, Dean saw Sam stepped out of the bathroom, pale and sweaty.

Meeting his brother before he could sit down, Dean offered his bottle of juice.

"Thanks," Sam muttered and took the beverage, unscrewed the cap, and took a healthy swig.

The brothers watched as the obese woman and her son re-entered the waiting room, the boy tugging at his mother's fingers as thick as sausages.

"Can we go get ice cream now, Mom? Can we?" the boy whined.

"Of course," his mother chuckled, "You were very good for the doctor."

"Looks like you're next Sammy," Dean told him and as though he was summoned by an invisible signal, the baby-faced doctor appeared.

"Sam Winchester?"

The brothers followed the youthful doctor into an exam room. Smiling, the man introduced himself as Dr. Fazil Ahmed.

"It says here you've been experiencing flu-like symptoms for two weeks?" Dr. Ahmed said, glancing down at the form Sam had filled out.

"That's right," Dean spoke for his brother.

The doctor glanced at Dean and then back to the form attached to this clipboard.

"And these symptoms haven't gotten better?" Dr. Ahmed asked.

"No," Sam replied this time.

"Any other symptoms I should know about?" he asked.

Sam hesitated for a moment; glancing at his brother before responding, "Canker sores that I can't seem to get rid of."

"Hm," Dr. Ahmed frowned, "Would you mind if I take a look?"

Sam shook his head and opened his mouth. Dr. Ahmed pulled a penlight from his breast pocket and shone it into the hunter's mouth.

"Most unusual," the young doctor muttered.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, "Do you know what's wrong with my brother?"

"No, I'd like to take some more tests if that's all right with you," Dr. Ahmed commented, putting the penlight back into his pocket.

"Sure," Sam replied, "I'm here anyway."

The doctor nodded and put the earbuds of his stethoscope into his ears, "Can I listen to your heart?"

Sam nodded and the doctor pressed the bell of the stethoscope against his chest for a moment or two, listening.

"I'd like to listen to your lungs," Dr. Ahmed said and Sam said it was okay.

"Take a deep breath," the doctor instructed.

Sam did as asked.

"And breathe out," Dr. Ahmed muttered.

Sam did.

"And again," the doctor requested.

Sam breathed in and out again for the doctor.

"I'd like to take a blood sample," Dr. Ahmed offered.

"Then Sam doesn't have the flu?" Dean asked.

"I'm not sure," the young doctor admitted, "I want to rule everything else out."

Five minutes later the brother were climbing into the Impala, a cotton ball secured to Sam's arm with medical tape.

"Are you hungry?" Dean asked as he started the engine, "I'm starving?"

Sam shrugged, "Whatever, Dean."

His brother frowned, "What's wrong, Sammy? Dr. Ahmed's gonna find out what's wrong. In a few days he'll get the blood work back and tell you it's nothing but the flu."

"I don't know," Sam hesitated, wrapping his arms around his middle as Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of the first diner that caught his eye, "Something doesn't feel right."

Dean pulled into a parking spot, killed the engine, and turned to his brother, his green eyes boring into Sam's hazel ones.

"Sam," he said, "It's going to be okay. It's just the flu. Nothing more."

Sam opened his mouth as though he wanted to argue but then he sighed, "Okay, Dean."

As soon as the brothers stepped into the diner the scent of deep-fried seafood hit them like a wave. Dean rubbed his hands together in anticipation but Sam just swallowed the bile threatening to climb up his throat.

"Sam," Dean said, "You're a little green around the gills."

"I'm all right, I just need something to drink," he replied as a waitress with a nametag that stated her name was 'Caroline' approached them and showed them to a booth.

"Can I get you two something to drink?" Caroline asked as she handed them menus.

"How about some sweet tea for me," Dean told her and she turned to look at Sam.

"Just water, please," he requested.

"I'll give you a few minutes to look at the menus," Caroline told them and left to get their drinks.

Dean opened the menu and perused it eagerly. Sam simply stared at the front cover of his.

"Sammy, you've gotta eat," Dean insisted.

"I'm not really hungry," he replied.

"We're not doing this," Dean put his open menu down in front of his brother, "Order the soup and salad for all I care, but just eat something."

Sighing, Sam acquiesced, "Okay, soup and salad."

Caroline returned with their drinks, "Have you decided what you'd like?"

Dean looked at his brother, "You go first."

"Can I get the house salad and the Soup-Of-The-Day?" Sam asked.

"Dressing on the salad?"

Sam shook his head.

"Okay," Caroline smiled and turned to Dean, "And you?"

"Large order of fish and chips," he told her, "With gravy."

"You got it," the waitress took their menus and walked away again.

Sam took a sip of his water, there were ice cubes floating in it and the cold liquid felt nice on his sore mouth.

Sam was quiet while they were waiting for their food, not matter how much Dean tried to engage him in conversation until he finally stopped, sipping his tea moodily.

Eventually Caroline returned with their food; Dean watching his brother closely as he picked at his salad and drank the broth from his soup.

"Sam," Dean began but his brother shook his head.

"I just don't feel like eating," he replied, "I feel like I'm going to throw up all the time."

"Okay, Sammy, okay," Dean murmured, but he still pushed some of his fries onto his brother's plate anyway.

W

The brothers watched television late into the night until Sam passed out and Dean finally allowed himself to sleep.

W

He must have been asleep for only an hour or two before he was alerted to the sound of his brother in trouble. Sitting up, Dean saw the bathroom light was on and the door was ajar, sounds of retching coming from within.

"Sammy," he jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, shoving the door open and catching sight of his sibling practically hugging the toilet as he threw up.

Sam's face was the colour of spoiled milk and slick with sweat even though he trembled all over. His hair hung in his eyes in damp hanks.

"G'way, D'n," Sam muttered and raised a hand as though to push him back.

"No way," Dean grabbed a washcloth from the shelf above the toilet and ran it beneath cold water from the sink.

Kneeling beside his brother, Dean wiped Sam's face with the cloth.

"It's just the flu, right?" Sam gave Dean a wry smile before bowing his head and throwing up again, groaning in pain.

"That's right, Sam," Dean muttered, "Just the flu."

W

Dean opened his eyes. Sam's phone was ringing.

Rolling over, he nudged his brother gently.

"Hey, wake up there Sleeping Beauty," he whispered, "Someone wants to talk to you."

Sam groaned but didn't open his eyes. After his fit of vomiting in the night, he had crawled into bed beside Dean, craving the same comfort that drew him to do the same thing when they had been kids. The only problem with sharing a bed now, the motel's single-sized mattress didn't fit two fully-grown men.

"Fine, I'll get it then," Dean muttered and got up, walking around to the nightstand sitting in between the two beds and picked up his brother's phone.

"Hello?" he answered.

"Is this Sam Winchester?" a voice with a slight Middle Eastern accent asked.

"No, this is his brother, Dean."

"This is Dr. Ahmed," the voice told him, "Can your brother come in to see me today?"

"Did you find out what's wrong?" Dean asked.

"I'd rather not discuss it over the phone," the doctor hedged, "We open at nine. Can you come then?"

"Yes, of course," Dean replied.

"Good," Dr. Ahmed said, "I will see you done."

"Who's that?" Sam muttered, lifting his head and peering blearily at his brother.

"The doctor from the walk-in clinic," Dean responded, ending the call, "He wants to see you."

"Today?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, as soon as they open."

Sam's eyes widened and Dean saw fear in their hazel depths.

W

Sam picked at his pancakes; the last thing on his mind was food this morning.

"You haven't had anything to eat since last night," Dean reminded him, "And whatever you did ended up in the toilet."

Sam sighed and shoved a piece of pancake into his mouth, washing it down with hot coffee.

Dean kept checking his watch, wanting to be the first people at the clinic when it opened.

He slurped down his coffee, crammed the last piece of bacon into his mouth and tossed some bills onto the table without looking.

"You ready?" he asked, standing and throwing his coat back on.

Sam nodded, abandoning his barely-touched pancakes gratefully.

W

The drive to the clinic wasn't long. As soon as the brother's stepped inside, Dr. Ahmed appeared as though he had been waiting for them.

Dean automatically followed his brother towards the doctor.

"Mr. Winchester," Dr. Ahmed looked to Sam, "I need to ask you some questions of a sensitive nature before I tell you what the tests show. You may want your brother to wait out here."

"Anything you have to say to Sammy you can say to me? Right?" Dean laid a protective hand on his sibling's shoulder.

"Dean comes with me," Sam told the doctor.

He nodded, "Follow me."

Dr. Ahmed led them into the same exam room as he had the day before. Closing the door, he turned to the Winchesters and he wasn't smiling.

"I need to ask you some questions," Dr. Ahmed told him, "And it would be in your best interest if you answered truthfully."

Confused, Sam said he would.

Now that he had permission, Dr. Ahmed saw no point in beating around the bush; he began his questioning.

"Have you ever had unprotected sex, especially with multiple partners?"

"No," Sam answered, feeling rather squeamish about the question. The only girl he'd been intimate with for a while had been Jess and they were always careful.

Dr. Ahmed checked something off on a piece of paper on his clipboard.

"Have you ever been or are you currently an IV drug user?"

"Never," Sam responded, trying not to sound offended but failing.

"Do you have any piercings or tattoos? Dr. Ahmed asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied.

"Where?" the doctor asked and Sam unbuttoned his shirt partway to reveal the tattoo on his chest.

"How long ago did you get the tattoo?" Dr. Ahmed asked.

"A few months ago," Sam replied, "Six, I think."

"Was the parlour clean and reputable?"

Sam nodded.

"What's this about, Doc? Do you think Sam has hepatitis or the clap or something?"

Ignoring Dean, Dr. Ahmed had a final question for Sam.

"Have you ever received a blood transfusion?"

Sam nodded.

"When was that?" he asked, looking interested.

"I was a kid," Sam looked at Dean.

"It was in '89," Dean told him, "Sam got hurt while we were hiking and needed blood."

Dr. Ahmed was nodding as though what the Winchesters were saying made perfect sense to what he was seeing on his paper.

"Mr. Winchester," he looked up at Sam, his dark eyes sad, "I have bad news. You do not have the flu."

Glancing at Dean he continued, "Nor do you have hepatitis."

"So… it is the clap?" Dean asked.

"No," Dr. Ahmed, "Your blood tests positive for HIV."

Neither Winchester responded for a moment. Sam felt as though someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water over him.

"What?" Dean asked, "That's impossible!"

"From the answers your brother gave me, its very likely he contracted the virus from tainted blood given to him during his blood transfusion as a child. Donors were not always screened as strictly as they are today and HIV does have a period were people who have it are asymptomatic and may not even know they are infected."

"No," Dean argued, "Take another sample, do the test again. You're wrong. Sam's not sick. He doesn't have that. He doesn't."

Dr. Ahmed started to explain to Dean that it wouldn't matter if he tested Sam's blood again, the result would be the same, when the younger Winchester spoke up.

"What do I do now?"

"You need to start on an antiretroviral therapy drug as soon as possible," Dr. Ahmed, "Which can slow the progression of the disease down."

"Sam's got to take medication?" Dean barked.

"Yes, most likely for the rest of his life," Dr. Ahmed explained, "But it should greatly improve his quality of life."

"Well, write a prescription then," Dean snapped.

"Dean," Sam said quietly.

"The drugs are quite expensive," Dr. Ahmed told them.

"Don't worry about us," Dean growled, "Just tell Sam what he needs."

The doctor nodded and started writing on his clipboard.

"I'm going to give you a prescription for a couple of drugs," Dr. Ahmed told them.

Tearing off the written prescription, the doctor handed it to Dean; Sam seemed to have turned into a mannequin.

"I'm very sorry," the young doctor told them, "I wish I could do more to help."

Dean's expression softened, "Thank you for doing this."

"C'mon Sammy," Dean grabbed his brother's wrist, "Let's get these filled."

His brother followed him, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that, deep inside his body, a deadly virus resided, intent upon his destruction.

Dean practically dragged his brother to the car, shoved the prescription into his brother's hands and exited the parking lot, eyes keen for a pharmacy.

"I'm going to die," Sam whispered.

"What?" Dean asked, not looking at his sibling, "Don't be stupid, you're not going to die."

Sam turned to look at him, his eyes filled with fear.

"People die from this, Dean," Sam told him, "They get sick and then they die and there's nothing anyone can do."

Dean hit the brake so fast he forced a truck behind him to swerve to avoid a collision.

"Yeah, screw you too, buddy!" he shouted at the driver as he passed the brothers, laying on the horn as he did so.

"Sam," Dean turned to his brother, and grabbed his face between his hands, "You are not going to die, understand me? We'll find a pharmacy and get you the medicine and you'll get better."

Dean knew it wasn't true, that Sam would no doubt be fighting this battle as long as he lived, but he didn't want to think about that right now. He just wanted to comfort his sibling and tell him everything was going to be all right, like when they were kids.

Sam's lower lip trembled, "You promise?"

Dean felt his eyes sting with tears.

"I promise," he told Sam.

His sibling forced a weak smile.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam muttered.

"No problem," he said and started driving again, "Now let's get you those pills."

There was no way Dean was going to let his brother succumb to the cruel death the virus had in store for him, not if it was the last thing he did.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean pulled up to the first pharmacy he spotted- a little Mom n' Pop place by the look of it- and killed the engine.

"You want to come in?" he asked Sam. His brother shook his head, "I just want to wait here."

"Okay," Dean took the prescription from his brother's hands and opened the driver's side door, "I won't be long."

Stepping into the air-conditioned pharmacy was like stepping into Heaven. Dean sighed as a gust of polar air blew directly onto his face, cooling him.

A small bell above the door announced his entrance and a woman wearing a white lab coat appeared behind the counter at the back of the store, past aisles of allergy medications, feminine hygiene products and mouthwash.

"Can I help you?" she asked Dean as he stepped up to the counter and showed her the prescription.

Peering over the tops of her glasses, the pharmacist read the drugs listed before lifting her head to look at Dean.

"These are for you?"

Dean shook his head, "A friend."

"They are very expensive," she told him, taking the prescription from him as though it was dirty.

"Don't you worry about that, Sweetheart," he told her gregariously, not missing her grimace of disgust as she held the paper in her hand.

"We don't have these in stock," she told Dean shortly, "You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"Fine," he told her, "I will."

Deciding he should make his visit here worth it, he walked down the aisles, picking up a few things that would help Sam feel better in the meantime: cough syrup, Tylenol, Pepto Bismol, a sleep aid, and because he knew his brother liked the stuff, a large bag of cheddar cheese flavoured popcorn.

Dean approached the counter again as that seemed to house the only cash register in the place.

"Is that everything?" the woman asked and Dean nodded.

As she rang his purchases through, she held the very edge of every item, as though afraid to touch them. Dean gathered up the items and turned to go before pausing and looking back at her.

"You can't catch it that way," he told her, his anger rising.

"What?" she asked, rudely.

"What my brother has," Dean continued, "You can't catch it just by touching something he may have. I'd have thought that, as a pharmacist, you would know that."

He walked out of the pharmacy; not even smiling in a satisfactory way at the stunned look the woman was giving him.

Climbing into the driver's seat of the Impala, Dean dumped the items he'd purchased onto his brother's lap.

"Where are the medications?" Sam asked, searching through the pile on his legs.

"They don't have them," Dean started the engine, "We have to come back tomorrow."

"Okay," Sam muttered.

"Let's just get something to eat,' Dean said as he started driving.

"I don't want to go anywhere," Sam told him, "Can we just stay in and order some take-out?"

"Sure, Sammy," Dean muttered, "Whatever you want."

They drove to the motel in silence, Dean still angry about the pharmacist's attitude and Sam still simply shaken up by the news they had received.

As soon as they stepped into the motel room, the older Winchester turned on the television, not wanting to sit in silence.

"What do you feel like eating Sammy?" he asked as he flipped through the channels until he found a rerun of 'COPS'.

"You decide," Sam muttered, sitting on the edge of his bed and raking his hair back from his brow.

"How about Chinese?" Dean suggested, "I'll order enough for dinner too."

Sam shrugged, "Sure."

Dean found the number for a Chinese restaurant in the phonebook beside the television set.

"How about this? It's called the Jade Tiger," Dean suggested, "They have sushi."

Sam grimaced, "Just Chinese, Dean."

"Okay, no sushi," his brother nodded and fished his phone out of his pocket.

While he waited, Sam opened the bag of popcorn his brother had bought and crammed a handful into his mouth.

Chewing loudly, Sam listened idly as Dean ordered orange chicken, beef and broccoli, egg rolls, Peking duck, chow mien and red-fried pork.

"And don't forget the fortune cookies," Dean added before ending the call.

"We should have it in about a half-hour," he told Sam.

"Good," his brother replied, picking up another handful of popcorn.

Dean moved to his brother's side and sat down on the edge of the bed beside him.

"Sammy," he began, "Do you… Do you want to talk about this?"

Sam didn't speak but twitched the open bag of popcorn towards his brother, "Want some?"

Dean dug his hand into the bag and grabbed a fistful.

"I think… I think we should talk about this," Dean ventured, not eating his popcorn.

"What's there to talk about?" Sam asked, not looking at Dean.

"This… disease…" Dean began, pausing and staring down at the floor.

"Do you remember that day?" Dean started again, "When you begged Dad and I to come with us into the forest?"

"No," Sam replied, "I don't remember anything."

"Dad wasn't going to let you come," Dean continued, "But then you started crying and I think he remembered that you were still just a little kid, six years old, and didn't want to be left on your own."

Sam just kept eating his popcorn.

"You could barely keep up with us," Dean said quietly, "But you were determined."

"We were going up a steel incline," Dean told him, "With a cliff on one side where a bunch of trees were. It was rocky; the ground unsteady. Dad… he told me to keep an eye on you but… but I wanted to help him instead and you…"

Sam stopped chewing, turning his hazel eyes on his brother.

"I don't know if you slipped or tripped or were just too exhausted to keep going," Dean whispered, "You fell, right off the damn cliff."

"Dad was right there though, nearly broke his neck going after you," Dean told him, "I was so scared… I thought you'd be dead. I mean, you were so little and the drop was so high."

"You had some bruises and scratches but…" Dean stopped his voice hitching, "but the worst part was that tree branch. It went right through you, right here."

Dean straightened up and touched a hand to his own abdomen, on the lower left side.

"Dad had to get you out," Dean continued, "He didn't have a choice. He pulled the branch out and bundled you in his coat but… there was so much blood… you were so pale… I think we both thought you were dead already."

"We got you to the hospital and you went into surgery," Dean told him, "They had to remove part of your spleen but other than that you were okay."

"In three weeks you were back to your usually self," Dean smiled slightly, "Wanting to go on the next adventure with Dad and me."

"If I'd just listened to Dad-" Sam began but Dean put a hand on his brother's, "Don't, Sammy, don't do that. You didn't know; you couldn't have known. You were a little kid."

Sam looked up at his brother, tears in his eyes.

"Why is this happening to me?"

Dean had to look away from his sibling, his own eyes stinging.

"I don't know, Sammy," he murmured, his voice suddenly thick, his throat tight, "I just don't know."

Turning, he grabbed his brother tightly and hugged him, hugged him as hard as he could because he knew that in a year from now he would not be able to.

As painful as the revelation of Sam's HIV diagnosis was, another thought loomed in the back of Dean's mind, a cruel, mocking thought: He had sold his soul, brought Sam back from the dead, only to find out his brother was closer to death's door anyway.

A sharp knocking at the door drew the brothers apart from one another. Sam wiped his face with his sleeve and Dean chuckled a little, as though embarrassed.

Making his way to the door, Dean sniffed a couple of times before opening it and smiling widely at the teenage girl from the Jade Tiger holding several bulging paper bags of take-out.

"You're beautiful," Dean said, and fished his wallet out of his pocket.

"Thirty-three seventy-two," the girl blushed and proffered the bags.

Money traded hands and Dean brought the food inside, his stomach rumbling in anticipation. He tore open the paper bags and pulled out the white Styrofoam containers, the scent of greasy Chinese food of questionable quality filled the room.

"What do you feel like, Sammy?" Dean asked, "There's a lot to choose from."

"I'm not really hungry, Dean," Sam muttered and lay down on his bed.

"Aw c'mon Sammy," Dean reached out and put a hand on his brother's arm, "You can't get better if you don't eat."

"I ate some popcorn," Sam muttered, closing his eyes.

"That's not enough and you know it," Dean argued.

"Please Dean, just let me sleep for a little while," Sam muttered without opening his eyes, "I'm tired."

Dean lifted his hand from his brother's arm.

"Okay Sammy, sure," Dean told him, "I'll save you some."

Now Dean didn't feel like eating himself. Opening a container of orange chicken, he grabbed one of the plastic forks the employees of the Jade Tiger had so generously supplied and began shoveling the food into his mouth as fast as he could.

W

Burping loudly, Dean watched 'COPS' with the volume down so he wouldn't wake his brother. Sam slept restlessly- as he had been for the past two weeks- tossing and turning ceaselessly.

Dean's attention waned and his thoughts turned to his brother's future. In a little under a year he would be dead and Sam would be on his own. He had sold his soul to a demon for nothing. He didn't know how long Sam had; it could be months or years, but he was still going to die. Had the demon known about the HIV? Had it known and had laughed at Dean behind his back as he begged to make a deal?

Sam lifted his head, blinking groggily.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded and laid his head back down, sighing.

"You want something to eat now?" Dean asked, turning the volume up on the TV.

"Fine," Sam muttered and sat up, "If you'll stop bugging me about it."

Dean gave his brother a shit-eating grin.

"Can we turn the air conditioning up?" Sam asked as he moved across to the rickety table where Dean had left the take-out containers.

"It's up as high as it'll go," Dean told him.

"Of course it is," Sam muttered, "I'll be so glad when we leave this state. Can we go to Alaska next?"

"What's wrong with you?" his brother asked, "Your biggest dream as a kid was going to Disney World."

Sam shrugged, "Well, I'm not a kid anymore."

Picking up the container of chow mien, Sam sat down on his bed and began eating.

"You know what we should do?" Dean asked, turning around on his bed so he faced his brother.

"What?" Sam asked, slurping up a bean sprout as he spoke.

"Go to Disney World," Dean couldn't help but smile.

Sam stared at him, "What?"

"Yeah, we're close enough," Dean continued, "It's just, what, an hour from here? Let's go once we've got your medications."

"I don't know, Dean," Sam argued.

"Why not? You've always wanted to go," Dean countered, "Better late than never. What's stopping you?"

Sam looked at him pointedly.

"Once you're feeling better, we'll go," Dean told him, "What do you say?"

"Dean…" Sam began but his brother interrupted.

"Don't tell me you've never dreamed about going on Space Mountain or the Tower of Terror or watching that stupid parade they have at night."

Sam looked down for a moment, chewing, thinking.

"Okay Dean," he said, lifting his head, "Let's go to Disney World."

Dean grinned at him.

SPN

Sam ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, barely making it to the toilet before he couldn't hold it in anymore. He groaned in pain as he sat hunch, arms wrapped around his middle.

"Sam?" Dean's voice came from the other side of the door, "You all right in there?"

"I… might have overdone it with the… Chinese," Sam ground out, feeling as though his insides were on fire.

"You need the pink stuff?" Dean called.

"I think it's too late for that," Sam told him, laughing even though it wasn't funny.

"We'll get those medications first thing in the morning," Dean assured him, "As soon as the pharmacy opens."

"Okay," Sam muttered and thankfully didn't hear a reply; Dean must have left him to suffer on his own.

W

Crawling into his bed ten minutes later, Sam collapsed against the blankets, exhausted and feeling oddly empty.

"How're you feeling?" Dean asked from his own bed.

"Like I just flushed everything I've ever eaten down the toilet," Sam murmured.

"Gross," Dean replied.

Sam smiled slightly and closed his eyes, grateful when sleep closed in around him.

W

It was still dark, early, when Sam woke up again but he couldn't sleep any longer. Searching for some clean clothes in his duffel and choosing a pair of jeans and a grey t-shirt, which would be much cooler than a button-up flannel, Sam went into the bathroom and turned on the light.

Brushing his bangs back from his forehead, Sam started at the face staring back at him in the mirror.

It hadn't changed much since the day previous, except for the three red sores marring his skin; one on his brow, close to his hairline, another on his chin just below his lower lip and another on his cheek.

"Dean!" Sam called and threw open the bathroom door.

His brother was awake instantly, looking around frantically for the threat.

Loping across the room, Sam turned on the lamp on the table between the beds; he crouched down so that he was face-to-face with his sibling.

"It's getting worse," was all he said.

W

Sam refused to take his jacket off even as they sat in the restaurant. The collar raised to try and keep as much of his face hidden as possible.

"Sam," Dean attempted for the third time to get him to take off the coat, "No one cares. No one knows."

Sam shook his head, face bent over his steaming mug of coffee.

"Can I get you boys anything?" a waitress appeared, notepad at the ready.

"Can I get bacon and fried eggs?" Dean asked, "With hot sauce on the side?"

"Sure thing," the waitress took down his order before turning to Sam, "And you, Sweetheart?"

"I'm fine with coffee, thanks," Sam muttered, keeping his head down.

Dean smiled apologetically at the waitress.

'Rough night,' he mouthed to her. She nodded and left to put his order in.

"Sammy," Dean leaned forward, trying to pull down the collar of his jacket, "You've got to eat something."

"Not hungry, Dean," Sam muttered.

"Sam, no one is going to know its," Dean paused, "You-Know-What."

"I don't care," Sam argued, "I'm not going to take my jacket off."

Dean sighed and leaned back, picking up his coffee cup and taking a deep drink.

"What happened about going to Disney World, huh?" he asked Sam, "Are you going to forget about that?"

His brother said nothing, lifted his cup of coffee and took a sip.

Their waitress returned with Dean's meal than turned to Sam.

"Sure I can't get you anything?" she asked Sam.

"Pancakes, I guess," he relented.

"Good choice," the waitress left to get his order filled.

"C'mon Sammy, take the collar down," Dean egged, "You don't have to take the coat off but at least lower your collar."

Sam, glancing around the diner and seeing no one was looking at him- everyone were too focused on their breakfasts to pay him any attention- and fixed his collar.

"There," Dean smiled, "See, there's no pitchforks or burning torches."

"Very funny," Sam muttered but returned his brother's smile, if slightly. He didn't feel so claustrophobic now at least.

"When we're done here we'll go the pharmacy and then head to Orlando," Dean told him.

"Already?" Sam asked, "I thought you said we'd go once I felt better."

Dean looked a bit sheepish, "I know I did Sammy but… well we both know I don't have much time and I want to cross it off my bucket list."

"That's not funny, Dean," Sam told him.

"I'm not laughing," his brother looked serious.

Sam took a deep breath, "Okay. Why not?"

Dean grinned and shoved a whole strip of bacon into his mouth.

The waitress returned with Sam's pancakes and refilled both of their coffee cups.

Sam poured a very generous amount of syrup onto the cakes and began to slice them up.

"Hey, hey, look," a voice from across the room tittered, "He's gonna eat them."

Sam turned to look towards the counter and saw a teenage boy wearing an apron and paper hat elbow the teenage girl behind the cash register.

"What are you looking at?" Dean asked.

Sam tore his gaze away from the teens and stared at his pancakes. Carefully, afraid something might jump out at him, he used his fork to flip over the one on top to reveal a greenish glob of snot glistening against the dark brown cake. A wave of nausea coursed through Sam and he shuddered.

"What the fuck is that?" Dean asked even though his tone told Sam he knew exactly what it was.

Sam closed his eyes and pushed the plate away, trying hard not to throw up.

"Hey!" Dean shouted at their waitress.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, sounding concerned.

"Yeah, some shithead hawked a loogie into my brother's breakfast," Dean snarled.

Sam opened his eyes; even the waitress looked disgusted.

"I'm so sorry," she apologized, "Can I get you a fresh order."

"No," Dean answered before his brother could speak, "You can give the scummy little creep who did it a kick in the ass."

Dean stood, "Let's get out of here."

The waitress watched, speechless as Dean stalked away from her, Sam following him silently.

Slamming the door to the Impala, Dean sat for a long minute, fuming.

"They couldn't have known, could they, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head, "No, Sammy, they were just pricks."

Sam didn't reply.

"Let's just get your medicine," Dean growled and turned the key in the ignition so quickly the engine nearly stalled.

W

Again Sam opted to wait in the car while Dean went inside the pharmacy. The experience at the diner had left him shaken. Those kids couldn't have known he was sick. They were just being cruel.

Still, Sam pulled down the sun visor and peered at his reflection in the small makeup mirror embedded inside.

He jumped when the driver's side door opened and Dean pushed a white paper bag at him.

"Better start now," Dean told him.

Sam nodded and opened the bag, taking out the two medication bottles labeled 'Sustiva' and 'Viramune'.

"Got you this too," Dean handed him a bottled fruit smoothie drink, "Since you didn't get much breakfast."

"Thanks Dean," Sam muttered and took the pills, washing them down with a large gulp of Melon-Berry Medley.

"What do you say we go to the happiest place on earth?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, both Winchesters needed some cheer after the morning.

Dean pulled out of the parking space and put the town in his rearview mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave kudos or a comment!


	3. Chapter 3

As he drove, Dean fiddled with the dial on the radio until he found a soft rock station- something Sam would like- and they listened to the musical talents of Fleetwood Mac, Kim Mitchell, Bon Jovi and Toto until they reached Orlando.

Sam was quiet for most of the drive, sipping the bottled smoothie and fumbling with the prescription bag in his hands.

Dean had a lot of time to think as he drove; hoping he wasn't making a mistake by taking his brother to Disney World. But God, he really just needed to forget about everything for a few days and pretend that it was all okay. It was better than waiting around in some grungy motel room for the inevitable to happen, at any rate.

Sam seemed to perk up somewhat as they approached the theme park, numerous signs along the roadway pointing them in the right direction.

"Could you imagine if Dad had taken us here as kids?" he asked Dean, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, clearly envisioning a younger version of himself absolutely losing his mind at having their father take them to the happiest place on Earth.

"We would have gone bonkers," Dean agreed, "We'd never want to leave."

Sam's smile faded somewhat, "Do we have enough money for this? It's not cheap."

"That's the beauty of credit card fraud, Sammy," Dean assured him, nonplussed, "We'll enjoy ourselves for a few days and then beat it before they realize anything's wrong."

Sam nodded, trusting his brother.

Dean's excitement grew as they joined the line of cars, vans and RVs waiting to pass through the gates of Walt Disney World. The going was slow, security tight, so Dean rolled the windows down to catch what little, humid breeze there was. They inched forward at a crawl, all around them were the sounds of impatiently waiting families, and fumes from motor vehicles and the bass thud of loud radios.

From the corner of his eye, Dean saw his brother growing restless, shifting in his seat as though uncomfortable.

"You okay?" he asked as he pulled the Impala a few feet forward, an old Winnebago right in front of them belching blue smoke from its exhaust pipe.

"Yeah," Sam replied in a clipped tone.

Turning to peer more closely at his sibling, Dean saw Sam's face was pale, beaded with sweat, his jaw clenched.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked.

"Nothing," Sam muttered through gritted teeth, "I'm fine."

The Chevy crept forward a few more feet, the security gates within sight now.

"No, something's up," Dean argued, "What is it?"

"I…" Sam hesitated, "I have to go."

Dean's eyes widened slightly, "Aw Sammy, can't you hold it? We're almost through."

"I'm trying!" Sam growled, hands grabbing the edges of his seat tightly.

A wave of heat that had nothing to do with the Florida temperature washed over Dean and he resisted the urge to bear down on the horn.

"C'mon, can't we go any faster!" he snarled in frustration.

There were five cars ahead of them, including the Winnebago.

"We're almost there, Sammy," Dean murmured to his brother, hoping his sibling would be able to keep it together and avoid a very embarrassing situation.

Slowly, slowly, they crept forward until they were finally sitting in front of the security guard. An elderly man with an impressive handlebar mustache, he squinted down into the Impala for a moment before asking Dean for some ID. Obediently, the hunter fished out his driver's license and handed it over.

"How long are you planning on staying?" the guard asked in a languid drawl.

"About a week or so," Dean replied vaguely. Really, they would stay as long as the credit cards worked and no one got suspicious.

The guard handed Dean back his license and narrowed his eyes as he looked into the car and saw Sam.

"Your friend okay, there?"

"He's just gotta use the bathroom badly," Dean replied, glancing at his sibling from the corner of his eye.

"There's public toilets just as you drive in," the old guard told him, "Near the information booth."

Dean smiled, relief washing over him, "Got it, thank you."

The guard nodded and waved them on.

Dean drove a little faster than necessary towards a large, redbrick building marked 'RESTROOMS' with a smaller similar building beside it that read 'INFORMATION'. There were already a few cars parked in front of the restrooms- mostly family vehicles with kids- but there was an open space and Dean took it. As soon as the Chevy had stopped, before Dean could even turn off the engine, Sam was hurrying towards the doorway with a figure of a man painted above it.

The hunter leaned back for a moment, letting out a sigh, before he too, left the Impala and walked to the information booth and grabbing a handful of maps available to tourists just entering the park.

W

When Sam lurched back to the Impala, Dean was looking through a map of the resorts; trying to decide which one they should stay at.

Once his brother had slumped into the passenger's seat, Dean showed him the map and brochure describing the different places guests could stay at the theme park.

"How about this, Sammy? It's called Port Orleans Resort- French Quarter. It looks nice."

"Whatever Dean," Sam muttered, brushing his sweaty hair back from his face.

Dean peered at his brother sympathetically.

"You okay?" he asked.

Sam shrugged, "I will be."

For a moment the brothers were silent, watching a woman and three children run out of the women's restroom and into a grey van parked beside them. Through the open windows came the screechy sound of pre-pubescent voices arguing about which park they wanted to visit first.

"Just as long as we don't go to the same place they are," Sam spoke up, smiling faintly as the van pulled away and in the direction of the resorts.

Dean chuckled and turned the key in the ignition.

"You got it, Sam."

W

"Wow," Dean breathed as he and Sam stepped into the lobby of the Port Orleans, French Quarter resort. The building was tall, with large windows along one side. A fountain in the center shot water high into the air. Dark green lampposts illuminated the area, even in the daytime. Foliage in pots sat in between benches placed in the area for weary travellers to lounge on. The brothers walked up to the desk to their left upon entering the immense lobby and Dean spoke to the concierge.

As Sam looked around the lobby, taking in the sights and sounds and smells, he couldn't help but smile.

"C'mon Sammy," Dean put an arm around his brother's shoulders, "Let's see our room."

Sam allowed Dean to guide him outside and down the sidewalks, with appropriate names such as Café Au Lait Way, to the resort rooms.

The hotel rooms were grouped together in buildings made of redbrick, with wrought-iron railings on the walkways, and dark brown roofs.

"Here's ours," Dean announced and led Sam up a staircase three flights to the top of a walkway and around a corner until he stopped in front of a door painted bright red.

Dean unlocked the door to reveal a large room with two queen-sized beds with ornately carved wooden headboards, purple and gold blankets, yellow carpet, a television and a dresser for clothes. A rectangular table with two chairs sat in front of the window. A portrait of what looked like a dozen or so girls or young women in frilly dresses dancing around a clearing, waving ribbons, graced the wall between the two beds. The room was meticulously clean.

Sam stepped inside and dropped his duffel bag on the bed furthest from the door, closest to the washroom.

"What do you think?" Dean asked, dumping his bag on his own bed.

Sam, giving a genuine smile, replied, "This is so cool."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos or Comments are greatly appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you want to do first?" Dean smiled at his brother, "Get some grub or get on some roller-coasters?"

Sam cringed a little.

"Can we just walk around for a little bit? Look around?"

"Sure," Dean said agreeably.

The brothers left their room and headed down the stairs onto the grounds of the resort.

The heat and humidity were just as oppressive as they had been in the little town the hunter had left but somehow, being at Disney World, made them almost bearable. There were a lot of shade trees and benches to rest on.

Sam wanted to go down to the river that flowed past their hotel, where duck and boats glided by.

"I wish we had some bread," Sam muttered as a group of mallards flocked towards him as he stood on the edge of the river, begging for food.

"We'll get some tomorrow," Dean told him.

"I wonder if they have alligators in here," Dean wondered, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Sam glanced at him, "Don't say that."

The ducks had climbed up onto the bank and were waddling around Sam's feet, completely unafraid of him.

"I'm kidding," Dean waved a hand, "Let's keep going."

Sam followed Dean as he made his way back onto the paved path that ran along the river. They walked slowly- they were in no hurry- and presently came upon the next closest resort; Saratoga Springs. The Victorian-style buildings modeled on the New York spa and horse racing retreat drew the brothers like a beacon.

"I don't know about you, Sammy," Dean began, wiping his sleeve across his forehead, "But I could use a nice cold drink."

"Me too," Sam agreed as they approached a building called 'The Artist's Palette' and stepped into air-conditioned Heaven. The eatery was crowded with families talking excitedly over slices of pizza, sandwiches or salads, the atmosphere warm and welcoming.

There were plenty of places to sit, tables crammed a little too close to each other, surrounded by display cases of ice cold drinks of everything from water to soda to wine, shelves of snack foods, deli counters where staff members made sandwiches or pizzas to order. There was also a section where families could pick up produce if they wanted to make their own meals.

Sam's gaze lit upon a make-your-own salad bar and he made a beeline towards it, Dean following behind him. While his brother busied himself with construction his salad, Dean wandered over to the sandwich counter to see what they were offering.

Kids of all ages were running around, laughing, screaming, and shouting to one another. Dean couldn't help but smile- the happiness was contagious- and picked out a sandwich he thought he'd like.

After receiving and paying for his food, Dean found his brother sitting at a table near the wall, as far from the commotion as possible, a large bowl of salad in front of him.

"Are you really gonna eat all of that?" Dean asked as he slid onto the chair across from his brother, staring at the pile of Romaine, feta cheese, dried cranberries, pumpkin seeds, and croutons drizzled with what looked like Greek dressing.

"What'd you get?" Sam asked, pointing his black plastic fork at Dean's sandwich, surprised his sibling didn't get a burger.

"Grilled Buffalo Panini," Dean told him and took a large bite and groaned in pleasure.

Sam stabbed his salad and paused before bringing the lettuce to his mouth.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, lowering his sandwich.

"We forgot drinks," Sam smiled.

Automatically Dean stood, "What do you want?"

"Just water."

He nodded and headed towards the first drinks display he saw. Although he would have liked something sweet and sugary, Dean knew that in the Florida heat, it would only make him feel more thirsty, so he grabbed two bottles of water, paid for them and headed back to the table.

"Want to go into the parks after we eat?" Dean asked, twisting the lid off his bottle of water.

"Sure," Sam told him through a mouthful of food.

"Anyone in particular?" Dean asked, taking a sip of water.

"Animal Kingdom," Sam replied without even having to think about it.

Dean chuckled. Sam had always loved animals; when he was a kid, he'd come back to their motel room with his pockets full of snails or frogs or bird's eggs that he found on the ground, insisting to their Dad that he had to save them. Dean was sure if Sam hadn't gone to law school he would have been a veterinarian.

"Sure, we can go there first," Dean finished his sandwich and took a swig of water.

He waited patiently for Sam to eat his salad, watching the families coming and going around them.

It was kind of hard to believe that they were actually at Disney World. He had wanted to go so badly when he was a kid, but knew there was no way their Dad would take them, and now that they were here, Dean kind of wished it were under better circumstances.

He felt great. For someone who had less than a year to live, it seemed ironic that very little- if anything- had changed. He was as healthy as he ever was and knew that he could spend the entire day riding roller coasters, eating junk food, standing in the sticky heat with the sun beating down on him.

Sam, on the other hand, was a different story. Still sickly, he most likely would not be able to run around the park like a five-year-old with a sugar rush. Dean knew he was feeling pretty shitty, and would probably need to take frequent rests to keep up his energy. Dean didn't mind, they would go at Sam's pace. This was as much for him as it was for Sam and he didn't want his brother to miss a moment of it.

Smiling, Dean turned back to look at his brother, now spearing the last lettuce leaf in the bowl.

"All done?" he asked and Sam nodded, taking a drink of water before standing.

"Then lets get started," Dean said, unable to keep from grinning with excitement.

They left 'The Artist's Palette' and wandered down the path, back towards Port Orleans. Instead of stopping at the French Quarter, they continued on for another ten minutes until they reached the Riverside hotel, where a bus would pick them up and drive them to the park.

They were, surprisingly, the only ones waiting so Sam sat down on the bench to rest for a minute or two.

"How're you doing?" Dean took a seat beside his brother, taking note of the red spots high on Sam's pale cheeks and the sweat beaded on his forehead.

"All right," Sam told him but smiled, "Excited to be here. Can't wait to go on the rides."

Dean nodded, "You need a break, you let me know, okay?"

Sam looked up, "Bus is coming."

Dean turned and saw the large white bus with tinted windows and the Disney World logo on its sides come trundling up towards them. It stopped and idled right in front of them. With a hiss, the door slid open and a young family of four stepped out, two little girls in their parents' arms, one wearing a Snow White dress and the other a Cinderella dress, both fast asleep.

Once the family had disembarked and was making their way into the Riverside hotel, Sam and Dean climbed aboard the bus. It was air conditioned, with flush seats and small television screens hanging from the ceiling at intervals.

The brothers sat at the back of the bus and sat down. An overhead speaker announced the next stop, another resort to pick up more passengers.

"This is going to be fun," Dean told Sam, grinning.

Sam grinned back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave kudos or a comment if you're enjoying this story!  
> It has been a few years since I have been to Disney World. My family stayed at the Port Orleans, French Quarter resort and one of our favourite things to do was, around lunchtime, was to walk to ten minutes down the river to Saratoga Springs and have a huge salad. I don't remember exactly if this was at 'The Artist's Palette' or not but I do know it was at that resort. They had a salad bar with a wide variety of lettuce types, toppings, and dressings. We'd all make our own preferred salad and then go back on the bus to take us to the parks again.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos or a comment, please.


End file.
